


Holiday Romance

by Lisafer



Series: The Dickens Arc [3]
Category: Protector of the Small - Tamora Pierce, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Dickens Arc, F/M, may-december relationship, multi-gen romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-28
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-09 19:40:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/777261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisafer/pseuds/Lisafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kel and Wyldon's friendship has stumbled into something else, much to the surprise of both of them.  </p><p>(re-telling of "A Midwinter Carol", this time from Kel's POV.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holiday Romance

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Midwinter Carol](https://archiveofourown.org/works/119270) by [Lisafer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisafer/pseuds/Lisafer). 



> The first story I ever wrote in the Dickens Arc was "A Midwinter Carol", and it was before the concept of the Dickens-themed titles was created. I always wanted to go back and write the same story from Kel's POV - but a slightly more graphic version.

It is an impulse I'd never acted on before - a quick, off-hand remark that I usually fought to keep inside my head. But once it's out, it's out, hanging in the air between us. I can't take it back, and I can't say that I hadn't meant it.

He stammers over a reply, and I cut him off. My goal is to keep it honest and painless - now he knows, but he doesn't need to be careful with my heart if his feelings are dissimilar. But something happens: his voice catches in his throat and I glance up from the floor to see the strangest expression on his face. He's flattered, and more than that, he's interested.

He glances down the corridor before leaning into me. "May I--?"

"Yes." My eyes are closed and his lips are on mine before I have the chance to realize the significance of the moment.

This is _Wyldon_.

But when he kisses me, I feel as though my stomach has dropped from my body. I feel like my heart will burst from my chest, it's pounding so hard. I can't recall ever feeling quite so thrilled at someone's touch, even when it's a light, cautious one. His fingers barely grip by elbows, whereas my fingers are clutching at the fabric that covers his biceps. His mouth, usually so hard and unyielding, is anything but.

When we pull away from each other, there's something in his eyes that unnerves me. I realize that it's passion. I've thought of moments like these, but I never knew how to imagine his expression. When he gazes at me with obvious desire, I find myself wanting to put on my Yamani mask and hide behind a facade. Instead a smile at him, to show him that I enjoyed the kiss. "That certainly seems worth the gossip."

Before I know it we're hurrying off to his quarters, his hand resting in the small of my back, guiding me down the corridor. And it's at my own instigation. We don't speak to one another. My heart continues to pound - in fear, in excitement. I've certainly been to a man's bedroom before, but nothing as surreal as this.

When we reach his room, and slip inside, a dam breaks. We're free to say all the things we couldn't when others could possibly overhear. But first, we affirm the decision; he practically pins me between him and the door, kissing me ferociously. I cling to him as tightly as he holds me. "Are you sure this is what you want?" I ask. I don't want him to back away, but he's the sort of man who will do so if he feels it's right - so I have to give him the option.

"Keladry, I've never been more certain of anything in my life." His words send tingles all the way to my toes. "Are _you_ sure"?

"Yes - I just thought - maybe - we should talk first."

"This is too sudden, isn't it?" He steps away from me, murmuring something. At first I think it's a curse, but the lamp hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room lights up. Mage lights. I wince at the sudden brightness, though I'm glad I'll be able to see his face.

"It's sudden, certainly, but it's not _too_ sudden." I'm not sure how much to tell him. Do I confess that he's been on my mind for months? I take one of his hands in mine and squeeze it affectionately. "I like you, Wyldon. I've been thinking about this for a while."

"Always be open and honest with me, Keladry," he murmurs, pulling me into his arms again. He doesn't kiss me, but embraces me instead, resting one large hand on the back of my head, almost cradling me. "We are alike that we hide our thoughts from the world whenever we can. You are far better at it, of course."

"I call it my Yamani mask," I admit with a quiet laugh. "It isn't polite to show your feelings."

"It is in the Eastern lands," he says. He places his large hands on either side of my face, gazing at me for a beat before speaking again. "Have you done anything like this before?"

"Are you asking if I'm a virgin, or if I've ever had a spur of the moment romance?" I flush, wondering which answer is more important to him. The number of men I've bedded can be counted on one hand. "The answer to both is no."

"Keladry, I don't want this to be just one night of romance," he says, leaning his forehead against mine. His voice rasps, and his eyes penetrate mine. I've always been affected by his eyes, and the way they bore into me.

"I was hoping you would say that," I answer, grinning. I reach for his sword belt, unbluckling it. As much as I'd love to drop it unceremoniously to the floor, I'm a knight. I know weapons are sacred. I set it down carefully before taking him in my arms again.

He kisses me fiercely while his hand roam. This kiss is brutal - the kind that takes my breath away as much as when he knocks me from the saddle with a lance. I've known larger men; I've kissed larger men - but none with as much force as Wyldon. He's a powerful man in every sense of the word. He's always had the ability to make me tremble, be it with nerves or now with lust. I let my own hands explore, touching the smooth skin on the back of his neck, his wrists, his back. I can feel that it drives him mad, that he wants me. As my lips trail down to his neck, I begin to work on his buttons. The divet between his collarbone is mine, and I claim it with licks and nips as he groans.

He is not idle, though. He unlaces my bodice, pulling the dress from my shoulders and pressing me hard against the door as he kisses the exposed flesh. He is working his way toward my breasts, and I feel light-headed.

Even while pinned to the wall with arms twined around him and his lips on my neck and collarbone, I notice that his rooms are amazing. They're not the living quarters of a knight of the realm, but of a lord who has spent his life in the capital. This is an appropriate place to bring friends after a court event, to entertain guests. I suppose that's what he's doing now. No, what he's doing now is removing my clothing.

Lord Wyldon is removing my clothing.

I have mixed feelings about this. The loudest voice clamoring in my head is triumphant - I've been imagining this moment for months, as a day dream that would never come to exist. This is why another part of me is frightened. No matter what happens next, our relationship can never go back, We can never be friends the same way again, even if I lace up my dress and walk away. He knows I'm attracted to him, that at least a part of me is willing to bed him. And I can feel - quite clearly - how much he wants that.

"Should we move to the bedroom?" I gasp, as his thumbs brush tantalizingly across my breast. "Or do you intend to take me standing right here?"

"Don't tempt me," he growls. Mithros, his low and husky voice does things to me. With one swift motion he picks me up and carries me into the bedroom. "We'd both be better satisfied with a job well done," he says.

I'm nearly six feet tall and I'm built as solidly as a mountain; I'm not accustomed to being carried anywhere. It's a new feeling, to be treated like any other girl. My last lover had been a slender man, strong, but not tougher than me. But Wyldon... it's that power again. He's only an inch taller than I am, but I feel as though he's as big as Raoul when he moves so lithely while carrying all of me. Part of me is delighted to have the dainty noblewoman experience, while another part of me feels foolish.

He deposits me quite carefully on the bed, stopping a moment to gaze at me. His expression is almost one of wonder, as though he never imagined it would come to this. "You're wearing far too much," he murmurs, kneeling at my feet to remove my dancing slippers - the silly shoes that got us into this position. If I hadn't twisted my ankle on the cursed heels, I would've never reached for his steadying grip. Without his grip, the ladies wouldn't have twittered. If not for their twitters, I never would have made the exasperated suggestion that we earn the reputation we'd been given. For want of a nail, the shoe was lost. He seems to be thinking along the same lines, for he pauses a moment to look thoughtfully at my slipper, one corner of his wide mouth turning upward into a half-smile.

He does not stop at the shoes, though. His hands slide up one leg, pushing my heavy skirts upward so he can see and remove my stocking. I take a moment to thank the Goddess that Lalasa oversees my wardrobe, and that she insisted that I wear the silk stockings and delicate silver slippers. He kisses my flesh as it's exposed, and I can't help but sigh contentedly. 

"Thank Mithros you're not ticklish," he murmurs against my calf, as his fingers near the arch of my foot. He reaches up to address the other stocking, starting the tantalizing process all over again. My legs - muscled, powerful and thick weapons - feel like they are made of gossamer and lace.

I push him away momentarily, when my stockings are draped haphazardly across a nearby chair. "This gown will be ruined at this rate," I tell him. I stand, unlacing where he had left off. He is removing his own clothing, as well, and when we're bare, we take a moment to enjoy the look of each other. He rests his hands on my sides, his rough and calloused palms strange against my sensitive flesh. His face is unreadible, and I don't understand the turned down corners of his mouth.

"I'm not beautiful, with all these scars," I say, self-consciously covering my abdomen with my hands. 

"Your skin is so soft," he murmurs, as he runs his fingertips from my side to my navel. He traces the sensitive flesh that runs along the scars. "You're so young."

That explains his expression.

"I'm not," I reply, lifting his chin so he will look at me. "I'm not too young for this, or for you." Framing his face with my hands, I kiss him deeply. 

"Thank the gods," he whispers, his breath hot against my mouth. He lowers his head, his lips running along my neck and shoulder and he stops at one of the more horrific scars.

"This is from Stenmun," I tell him. He kisses the scarred flesh as lovingly as he had the rest. We move together toward the bed, lying down against the soft, downy pillows. His lips continue their track across my flesh, trailing down my sternum and to the scars under my navel. 

"What about this?" he asks, tracing the pattern with his index finger. 

"Centaur. When I was with the Own."

"They're vicious," he said, glancing down at his own scarred arm. We continue that way, touching scars and giving explanations. He has far more than me, some going back to his days in the Tusaine War. "This is why I never wanted you to fight," he says softly, his expression looking more remote than it had all evening. "Even knowing how good you are, I worried about the people who would see your scars and worry for you and try to protect you."

"Are you going to protect me now?" I ask, feeling my mask slip into place.

"You can protect yourself more than adequately," he replies, his wry smile once again on his face. "I'd always like to be there to help, though."

And then his hands, his fingers, his lips are on me again. He kisses me fiercely, cupping my bare breast. I can't help but gasp. 

"Is this too strange?" he asks, caution in his voice.

"No," I whisper hoarsely. "I-I've been wanting this." As if to prove it, I kiss him back. His repsonse isn't the powerful onslaught I'd felt when pinned against his door. Nor is it the timid, careful kiss we first shared in the corridor. It's tender and sweet, and full of tantalizing promise. It's the kind of kiss a woman could bask in.

"It's been a long time," he tells me. His lips hover over the hollow at the base of my throat, and his breath is warm against my skin. "Since I was with Vivenne. Since I was with someone new."

"I'm the first since you were widowed?" The thought - the significance - hadn't crossed my mind.

"Yes." He pulls away enough to gaze at me, his eyes dark and intense. "And now that we're here, I don't think I would want it any other way."

We kiss sweetly at first, gently coaxing and caressing. But the mood shifts swiftly - we're too aware of our nakedness, our mutual desire. I push him back into the soft mattress and lean my whole body against his, reveling in the feeling of flesh on flesh. "You should lie back and enjoy, in that case," I whisper.

His eyes drift shut as I caress him, following the act with my lips and tongue. It isn't until I move to straddle him that he opens them again, his gaze penetrating and focused. It's strange, I think as I lower my body onto him, that I'm reminded of words he spoke long ago. "Look at me, girl," he had said with as much purpose and determination as he wore on his face now. But the feel of him fully inside of me is enough to chase all memories - and most thoughts in general- out of my head.

We are both perfectly still for a moment, silent and relishing the sensation of near fulfillment. There is certainly no going back now, I realize. Our lives are forever changed, now that we know one another in such an intimate way. 

He rests his fingertips against my thighs, and I rest my palms on his chest. He is older - quite a bit older - than the last man I was with, but he's a knight who keeps himself at the peak of physical health. He's well muscled, and feels good beneath my hands. I beging to rock slowly at first, closing my eyes and tilting my head back. I can't help but moan softly, my voice low and raspy, which elicits a choked response from Wyldon. Gradually I speed up my rhythm and waves of pleasure course through my body, growing in intensity. 

"Look at me," he says. When I open my eyes, I'm rewarded with open desire written all over his face. This is no Stump, who stoically orders men to do his bidding, who refuses to hear excuses or explanations. This is a man who feels, who loves, who wants. He and I hide parts of ourselves to make life easier - to make ourselves easier for others to understand. This is Wyldon at his most unguarded; this is what he looks like when he has no control over his emotions. And when he whispers a curse, I realize that I probably look very much the same.

He moves quickly, sitting up and pushing me down against the blankets, maneuvering carefully so as not to hurt me or miss a stroke. I don't mind letting him take charge. I lock my legs around him and raise my hips to meet him with every thrust. I grip him tightly and whimper into his shoulder. When I finally feel the sweet release of my climax, I clench my eyes shut and shudder, moaning softly.

He continues, though I know he is close. An involuntary spasm of muscles on my part pushes him over the edge. He does not cry out my name, as lovers in the past have done, or blurt out feelings when he's overcome with pleasure. He simply groans and collapses against me, still braced on his forearms so as not to put his full weight on me.

Is this habit, or did he momentarily think he was with his wife? She was far a more delicate woman than I am, and probably could not have taken Wyldon's full weight completely for more than a moment. 

He begins to withdraw from me, but I tighten my legs around his waist to keep him inside. "Just a little while longer," I whisper, running my hands over his back and sides. I wonder if he can feel my pulse around him. I wonder if this will ever happen again. He says he's interested in more than one night, more than just a quick fling. But now that he's had his taste, will he regret having said that? I savor the feel of him, if only because it may be my one chance.

And then he gives me a long and sweet kiss. It has none of that feeling of exploration or urgency - it's reassuring and filled with promises. He had told the truth before, and his mind has not changed.

"You're beautiful when you lose your self-consciousness," he said, when he finally rolls off me. "When you rode atop me."

I can feel myself blushing - Really? After all we've shared this evening? "You make it easy to be lost in the moment." I roll onto my side, studying his profile. 

"This - this wasn't something I'd planned. I haven't been thinking of you sexually all along."

I'm unaccostumed to hearing hesitation in his voice, but I understand his need to say this. "I know you haven't." I lean forward to kiss him. "It was since the blizzard, for me."

He blinks. "That was ten months ago."

"Yes. And after our conversation that night, everything meant a little more to me. I wasn't pining for you, or anything like that. It just... became a possibility, in my mind. Not an expectation."

"I don't know when it changed for me," he says, frowning. He takes my hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth so he can kiss my knuckles. "But I'm glad it did."

"I am, too." I move to climb out of the bed, but he pulls me back. 

"Stay, just a bit. Please."

It's the please that gets me. Wyldon has always had the upper hand in our relationship - even as friends, he was the commander. But now, he's relenting that power by choice. By necessity, even. The only way for us to be lovers is if we're equals. I roll back toward him, but pull the blankets over us. "It's cold in here," I tell him. Now that all the heat is gone, the air chills my flesh. But his duvet warms quickly, with the two of us beneath it. He wraps his arms around me, holding me close to him. Strange, to feel such warmth - such heat - from a man I associate with frost.

We say nothing for some time, though we occasionally share tiny little playful kisses. He touches the Goddess charm at my neck, lifting it off of my skin. "I haven't seen one of these in years." Of course. Vivenne had probably been close to his age, and no longer needed a ward against pregnancy. 

"I never leave home without it," I say as light-heartedly as I can. "My mother bought my first one as soon as I started my monthlies, and I've replaced it once or twice since."

"Awfully progressive," he replies. "I can't say my daughters had the same benefit."

I laugh. We've come a long way, if I can laugh at his conservative notions rather than cringe. "Mama knew as soon as I became a page that I was ruined for any chance of a noble marriage. So that meant I had the decision to lose my virginity whenever I wanted to, rather than when she or Papa determined I should."

He considers this for a moment, and I can see that ideas are warring in his mind. "I should be grateful, I suppose," he says at last. He cups my face with one hand and kisses me.

"And it's not like having a charm made me find the nearest haystack and eligle man, when I was a page or a squire," I tell him. 

"You were a better squire than I was, in that regard," he says with a bitter laugh.

"I was more focused on duty, although the offer was made the day before you tilted against me at a tournament." I can't help but smile, thinking of how much has changed since then. Cleon is happily married now, though not nearly as close friends as we were before. And these days the idea of jousting with Wyldon is more exciting than terrifying.

"Gods, but I remember how tilt-silly you got when I challenged you."

"I feel tilt-silly right now," I say with a laugh, stretching. "You have a peculiar effect on me, Wyldon."

I can tell that he likes the idea of that by the way he kisses me, slowly and luxuriously. I feel as giddy as I did when we began. 

"You make me wish I were a younger man," he whispers huskily. "That I could have you four times in one night."

"I'll be in Corus for the rest of the week, at least," I reply. "So four times is mandatory between now and the day I leave."

"I believe I can manage that," he says with a bit of a smirk. "But I'm not quite sure you've had your fill this evening." He kisses me soundly again, while he reaches between my legs and touches me in the ways that make my toes curl. I sigh happily at his ministrations. A girl could get very, very used to this.


End file.
